


Ke’tayli Ni Daab (Hold Me Down)

by Bigorneaux



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Consensual Choking, Corin has sworn the Creed, Dom Corin, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Is this enough tags?, LadyIrina is a deity among mere mortals, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Married Relationship, Pain, Rough Sex, Safewords, Some handwaving re: background plot, Sorry Not Sorry, Sub Din Djarin, and instead of picking up the trash I’ve decided to just lie down and roll around in it I guess, basically my hand slipped and knocked over this garbage can, light pain kink, safeword negotiated but not used, thank you for Corin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 01:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30030792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bigorneaux/pseuds/Bigorneaux
Summary: Corin extracts an angry, injured Din from a failed mission and takes control.
Relationships: Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret)/Din Djarin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Ke’tayli Ni Daab (Hold Me Down)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyIrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Touch and Taste](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22789363) by [LadyIrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/pseuds/LadyIrina). 



> Ahem. Well hello there, Mandorin fandom. Please enjoy this offering of Mando!husbands trash! Kinky, emotional trash, of course, because these two saps can never just ‘have sex.’ Too many feelings to be felt, too little time! In all seriousness though, this is my first time writing something like this (I am generally a soft-smut kinda person) but I think it turned out pretty well! I hope you enjoy, and of course, thank you to LadyIrina for Corin and for the love between these two beautiful idiots! Also, there are almost certainly typos in this, but I need to post it now before I chicken out, haah.

Blaster fire echoes off the hull of the Razor Crest. In the cockpit, piloting with sweaty hands, Corin holds his breath. Nothing has gone to plan today. Not one thing. Wherever good luck was, she was not here.

 _Where is Din?_ he thinks, breath still pinned within his chest. He should have landed on the ramp already. It was mission failure at this point, nothing left to do but extract Din, retreat and maybe try again later. But the extraction part hasn’t happened yet, and in addition to the surprise squadron of jumptroopers Din is currently fighting against, Corin can now see troopers running for the few beat-up TIES at the base and a couple more rolling out some cannons. The Crest’s shields are decent but they’d already had an encounter with some pirates on the way here and Corin’s not confident they’ll hold through a full assault. In the audio system that connects their two helmets, he can hear Din panting, can hear the whooshing discharge of his blaster but sensors indicate he’s still hovering a few metres from the ramp.

An Imperial corvette zooms past and fires on them, shaking the ship fiercely, but the shields hold and the ship doesn’t circle back for a second hit. It just ascends quickly into the upper atmosphere and jumps into hyperspace, carrying their target with it and leaving them only with bad luck. _Lots and lots of bad luck,_ Corin thinks as a TIE fighter begins to lift off the ground below. He’s just got his mouth open to warn Din that they need to leave sooner rather than later when there’s a thud on the Crest’s open ramp and the speakers of Corin’s helmet buzz to life with the sound of Din’s voice.

“I’m in,” he barks, heavy and clipped, “Close the ramp. Close the ramp!” Shots still ping off the Crest as Corin slams a hand down onto the control for the ramp. They grow fainter, though, as the Crest ascends into the upper atmosphere and Corin prepares the ship for a hyperspace jump. His mind races, flooded with adrenaline and fear that he’ll do this wrong and send them through the centre of a kriffing star, but he’s made huge gains with piloting in the past year, and knows Din trusts him to do this. And even if he can’t trust himself, he can at least trust Din’s trust in him now. He punches in the coordinates and everything blurs into the watery glow of hyperspace.

He slumps back in the pilot's seat. “You okay,” he asks through the helmet’s comm.

“No.” He can hear Din stomp his way across the cargo hold. “No, I am not.”

Worry seeps its way into Corin’s gut. “You hit?”

“Tell me this, will you?” Din is seething, that much is clear. “Since when do Stormtroopers have karking jetpacks, Corin?”

“Not sure, _cyare_ ,” Corin replies mildly. “Wasn’t common when I was enlisted.” He knows Din isn’t angry with him, though he does have to push away the voice in his head that tells him, maybe, just maybe, he is.

“Send a subspace to Ahsoka. Tell her I...fumbled her lead. Target’s gone, along with any information on Thrawn. And I didn’t even get a tracker on that blasted corvette so...” He trails off, sighing bitterly and, from the sound of it, kicking a crate, before he continues. “Better send a message to the Covert, too. Payday’s not gonna happen for a bit, I guess.” 

“We’ll figure it out, _cyare_.”

“Uh huh.” 

* * *

Corin sends the messages, checks a few systems from the cockpit’s controls to make sure all is, relatively speaking, well, and then descends the ladder into the cargo hold. He pauses a moment at the bottom, breathing through his anxiety at what he might find. Din had evaded his question about injuries earlier, and that usually meant that he was, in fact, injured. He’s also, without a doubt, beating himself up for the day’s long string of failures, which will be harder to comfort than any physical wounds. Though its intensity has never been directed at Corin, the anger that Din usually keeps carefully contained can burn hot and it’s Din himself being burned by it right now. 

Entering the rest of the way, Corin takes stock of his _riduur_ ’s condition. Though he’s sitting neutrally on a cargo crate, his frustration ripples off him in waves so tangible Corin feels like he could reach out and touch them. Din’s got a cauterizer in one of his ungloved hands and there’s a slow but steady drip of blood oozing onto the floor from a deep gash in the side of his thigh, just alongside the beskar that protects the rest of the area. There’s also a shallower graze from a blaster above his left vambrace that looks bloody and raw through the torn fabric there.

Corin can feel his heartbeat, quick and uncomfortable, in his throat as it constricts at the sight. Close calls, both of them. The dark possibility in each makes him feel sick, makes his mind race for any mistake he may have made that could have… Corin forces that train of thought to a stop. It’s not helpful right now. Instead, he removes his helmet and kneels in front of Din, hovering one hand above his knee, waiting for permission to touch, and holds the other out for the cauterizer.

Din looks down at Corin’s hands, swallowing thickly before a numb silence stretches between them. In hyperspace, the ship is quiet save for the dull hum of the engines and the sudden stillness seems to thicken the tension in the air around Din.

 _Let me in_ , Corin thinks, prays. It’s a prayer he’s sure Din’s also sent to the stars on many occasions, and he always finds an odd comfort in that. That they each understand and care for the broken parts of each other. Corin realized a long time ago that he and Din were two sides of the same credit. Anger and doubt; fire and ice. But the same sadness—and the same fundamental goodness—underneath.

His prayer goes unanswered for now though. Din’s free hand curls into a fist while the other sets down the cauterizer and gently closes Corin’s outstretched hand.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it,” he says, voice flat.

Sighing inwardly, but knowing better than to press just yet, Corin nods briefly and then rises to busy himself with checking a few areas in the cargo hold for damage. When Din’s ready, he’ll be there. Until then, Corin decides to just stay close and lend his presence as a more general comfort.

Soon, the smell of seared flesh is heavy in the air and Corin grits his teeth every time he hears Din grunt. Cauterizing a wound is nasty business and Din’s not likely affording himself any gentleness right now. Corin’s reorganizing the weapons cabinet when Din lets out an exasperated cry, throws the cauterizer on the floor with a clang, and drops his helmeted head into his hands. Taking that as his cue, Corin sits down quietly next to Din. He eyes the wound, half-closed and half-bloody, and pulls a pad of clean gauze from the medkit. 

“Hey, _cyare_ ,” he says quietly, “Gonna touch you now, okay? Just to put some pressure on the open part of your wound. It’s still bleeding a bit.” Din nods, but jumps at Corin’s touches, first to his shoulder to soothe and then to the wound, examining it carefully. It’s far from the worst injury Din’s ever had, but it’s definitely enough to warrant the cauterizer, especially since they’re currently out of bacta patches. 

After a minute, Din pushes Corin’s hand away. “Let’s just get on with it,” he mutters, nodding to the cauterizer lying on the floor. It’s not much, but at least he’s letting Corin help now. 

Corin irrigates the wound with alcohol solution and starts burning the rest of it shut as gently as possible. Din trembles slightly under his hands as he works, obviously in pain, but seems determined to stay still and silent, not even grunting at this point. When he does finally move, it’s to grab Corin’s hand and lock his gaze through the t-visor. 

“Don’t be gentle,” he grits out. “I—I need—” Din loses his voice, unable to finish, and just emits a low, sullen growl instead. 

Corin swallows hard. He knows this mood. Knows that Din’s at the point of anger where he wants the pain, almost craves its distraction. It scares Corin a little bit, but he also understands it, understands the need to escape into physical sensation to get out of your own head. 

He obliges, finishing the cauterization quickly and then briskly cleaning the wound on Din’s arm, detaching the vambrace and pushing up his sleeve so he can bandage it. Then he stands in front of Din, looking down at him. The fabric around his neck is damp with sweat and his fists are clenched in his lap. Corin wants so badly to be gentle, almost extends a hand to rest along the side of Din’s helmet, but he’s keen to the fact that that’s not what his husband needs right now. Though his mind is racing to be sure he’s analysed the situation properly, Corin’s gut tells him that he’s got it right. He can offer distraction, can take control and maybe add some pleasure to this pain. He wanted Din to let him in, and Din is, just not in the way Corin had originally had in mind. 

Crowding closer into Din’s space, he grabs the lip of his helmet roughly. “I want this off,” he says, voice sharp-edged and hard. Suddenly, the tension in the air has a different, more heady quality to it and Din’s quick intake of breath, the sudden flex of his fisted hands, tells Corin he’s read the situation exactly right. 

“Then take it off,” Din growls. 

Corin does, tugging it off brusquely. Then he grabs Din’s chin hard and presses his thumb forcefully into the softness of his lower lip, holding his now unmasked gaze. Din’s expression is all fire and flame barely kept at bay, the tautness of anger distorting the loveliness of his face. 

Leaning down, Corin kisses him harshly, using his thumb to part his mouth and feel the searing heat of Din’s tongue against his own. Din snarls into the kiss, and grabs Corin’s ass, pulling him down into his lap. Corin worries for a second about the wound on his thigh, but Din seems to purposefully push it out against where Corin’s leg meets his, seeking out the pain Corin is afraid to cause. So Corin throws caution to the wind and cants his hips down to roll against Din’s growing hardness. Breaking the kiss, he yanks the cowl of Din’s cloak away from his body and bites him hard at the juncture of his neck and shoulder before pulling back to search his eyes. “Tell me what you need, _cyare,_ ” he pants out, almost desperately. His blood is pounding through him now, the scent and taste of the man beneath him—the ash and sweat of battle—flooding him with something urgent and feral. 

Below him, Din’s breath is short and sharp. He’s wild as well, cheeks flushed and pupils dilated, teeth gritted. Corin wraps his hand loosely around the base of Din’s throat. He places no pressure there, but the potential violence of the position does not appear lost on Din, who groans at the contact. “Tell me,” he says again, with the bite of an order this time. 

“I need—I feel—like I can’t control—” Din’s struggling to find the right words and Corin can see the choler within him flare at that. He clenches his jaw so tightly it shakes. “You know what I—that when I’m angry like this it just—” 

Corin squeezes his hand a little at the base of Din’s neck and goads him. “Say it.”

Din lets out a cry of frustration and spits the rest out angrily. “Fuck, Corin, I just need you. I need you in control right now. _Ke’tayli ni daab. Ni copaani cetar. Gedet'ye!_ I can’t—Don’t make me fucking beg for this!”

Corin’s mouth is suddenly dry and his dick is suddenly very, very hard. _Hold me down. I want to kneel_ , he’d said. They’ve done this before; Corin taking control, being the force that beats down every flare of rage in him. Corin didn’t think he’d like it at first, but Din...Din submits beautifully when he’s like this. Not gracefully, not easily, but beautifully. So Corin shifts himself fully into the role he knows Din needs him in right now. He moves his hand quickly and fully onto Din’s neck, choking him a little and pushing his head back so that he can glare at him. 

“Don’t speak to me like that, _verd_.” 

“I’ll do wh—” Din tries to retort, but Corin cuts him off with a hard kiss. 

“Don’t,” he threatens, uttering the word roughly against Din’s mouth. 

Din quiets. 

Then, just a trace of gentleness in his voice, Corin asks, “What’s your word, Din?” They’ve negotiated this before and Corin knows the word they use, but there’s a messiness to this that tells Corin it’d be prudent to lay it out clearly. 

“I don’t need a—” 

Corin stands up swiftly and looks down at Din with ice in his eyes. He reaches for his collar and hauls him to his feet so that they’re standing nose to nose. “You know the rules. You give me a word, _verd_. This goes too far, or stops feeling good, you say the word and we stop. If you can’t promise me that, then this ends here.” 

Din snarls, but mutters out, “ _Ge'tala_.” 

“Good. And if you can’t speak?” 

Din reaches up and gives three short taps to Corin’s arm. 

Corin leans forward, pressing his lips against Din’s ear and whispers, his voice both cold and sweet. “Very good, _ner verd’ika_. Now, kneel.” 

Din stays stock still, unyielding. Corin pushes away the flutter of hesitation at the back of his brain, knowing that this is part of the dance. He takes a small step back, squaring his shoulders and staring Din down. “That wasn’t a request. Kneel.” 

“No.” 

Corin grabs both of Din’s shoulders and shoves him down ruthlessly onto his knees. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, he yanks Din’s head back. “Don’t argue with me.”

Din bares his teeth. “Or what?” 

Corin smirks and drags the toe of his boot lightly along the bulge of Din’s clothed cock. “Or I will tie your hands up, head back up to the cockpit, and leave you here hard and wanting, unable to even touch yourself.” 

Din swallows sharply at that and lets his mouth fall open in a shaky exhale. “I’ll be good.” 

Stepping forward again, Corin pets Din’s hair a few times before cradling the back of his head and pulling him forward so that his cheek presses against Corin’s hardness. “You’ll have to be, if you want this. You _do_ you want this, yes?” 

Din leans into him a bit, almost nuzzling into the fabric that covers Corin’s painfully hard cock. Some of the tension seems to seep from his frame, and when he speaks his voice is quieter, less angry defiance and more soft want. “Yes. Yes, please.” His lips are a gentle caress against Corin, whose chest aches at the sudden tenderness. This is why...why they do this sometimes. Corin had heard of such things before, but had never done them, couldn’t even really imagine himself doing them. But the first time he’d done this for Din, held him down and dominated him, the pleasure on his _cyare_ ’s face and the calm that had overtaken him afterward made him understand the appeal. Din had given him so much. This was something tangible he wanted to give in return. 

“Look at you. So good for me. Yes, _verd’ika_. Put all that anger away. Let me show you something better.” 

Din moans softly against him and retreats easily when Corin nudges him back to undo his belt and pants and draw out his cock. He strokes it leisurely a few times and then pets Din’s hair again. Din loves taking Corin in his mouth, loves giving pleasure that way and Corin knows that it’ll be a near-impossible temptation. Din looks up at him, testing the waters, and then starts to lean forward. Corin’s ready for it, his hand sliding down to grip Din’s chin between a thumb and forefinger and angle him away. 

“Ah-ah,” he chides. “I said show you.” 

Defiance returns to Din’s face and he tries again to move forward. Corin takes a neat step back and then slaps Din, open-palmed and just hard enough to startle him but not cause any real damage. 

“I said no.” 

Din glares at him but submits, sitting back on his heels and, Corin catches, pressing the heel of his hand into the freshly-closed wound on his thigh. Corin hesitates for a split second, but then decides. Din needs to let go completely right now, though he’ll likely fight it for a bit longer. 

“Stop that.” 

“What?” 

“Your hand. Take it off your wound.” 

“What? Why?” Din scowls and presses harder, hissing a bit with the pain. “No.” 

“Yes. Right now, I get to decide when you get pleasure, so I also get to decide when you get pain.” 

Din tries to stare him down, but Corin holds steady and eventually Din looks away and lays both hands placidly in his lap. 

“Good,” Corin croons, stepping forward again so that his cock is right in front of Din’s face. He holds his hand out for Din to spit in and then works himself slowly as Din watches him, intent and breathing raggedly. “You are not to touch me or yourself in any way unless I initiate it or I give you permission. Is that clear?” 

Din opens his mouth as if to protest but then thinks better of it and gives a single nod. The anger is nearly gone now, and Din is letting go, submitting. Corin smiles down at him. “ _Jate, ner meshla verd_.” He pumps his cock a few more times and then steps a bit closer, letting it brush Din’s cheek. His _cyare_ ’s eyes flutter closed and Corin can see him fight not to turn his head, not to taste. 

“ _Jate_. Good.” Corin shifts and rubs his thumb through the pre-cum that’s gathered at the tip of his cock. Time for a reward. He presses his thumb into Din’s mouth and lets him taste that way. Din’s response, his unguarded moan, is electric, and Corin can never bring himself to be too harsh so he gives more. Snapping open one of the compartments on his belt, he withdraws the salve that most Mandalorians keep on them to deal with armour irritation. Stepping back, he tosses it into Din’s lap. 

“Get yourself ready for me,” he orders. “Do not touch your cock.” 

Din sits up off his heels eagerly and stands on his knees to fumble his pants down far enough. Corin sits on the crate, stroking himself aimlessly while Din gets himself ready. Halfway through, Din pauses, and asks, “Am I doing better now? Will I get…?” He looks pointedly at Corin’s cock. 

A little half-smile sneaks onto Corin’s face before he can stop it. “As long as you’re good—ask nicely and follow the rules—I’ll give you exactly what you want.” 

Din lets his head tip back, eyes closed, and pumps his hand a little harder behind himself. He whimpers suddenly, finding the spot in himself that is the seat of his pleasure, and Corin can’t help himself anymore. He kneels in front of Din and kisses that beautiful, golden neck before tilting Din’s head forward to cup his face with both hands. 

“Tell me what you need,” he says again, but all gentleness this time. 

“I need—I need you to be rough, please. I want to be—” Din blushes. “Used.” 

“You need to let go, yes?” 

“Yes.” The word is hoarse, whispered like a confession. Din keeps so much under such tight control and Corin knows it’s exhausting, especially after the decision-fatigue of an essentially solo battle. To just feel, to be lost in sensations he can’t direct or control, is what he needs right now. So Corin gives him what he needs. 

Rising to his feet, Corin grasps his dick in one hand and Din’s face in the other. He drags the head of his cock across Din’s parted lips and then pushes it into Din’s mouth. He’s not gentle, doesn’t wait; he just shifts his hand to the back of Din’s head and yanks him forward until he’s fully seated in that warm, wet heat and can feel Din gag around his length. Corin gives him only seconds to adjust and then starts to fuck his face, pace brutal and relentless. 

They continue like that until Din is keening around his cock like a mad animal, spit leaking down his chin and eyes watering. He’s twisted awkwardly, too, frantic to touch himself in the only way he’s currently allowed. 

When Corin withdraws, Din initially tries to chase after him, desperate to continue, but then catches himself and falls still. Corin steps behind him and pushes him onto his hands and knees. He’s still fully clothed and, save for the helmet, fully armoured and the juxtaposition of this with his submission is exquisitely beautiful. Corin strokes a hand across his exposed ass and yanks his pants down a bit further. 

“Remember, _ner verd_ , I’m in control. Just give in to what happens. You don’t have to decide anything. Just obey.” 

Din lets out a long exhale and nods. Corin spreads his ass cheeks and looks at his handiwork. He’s loose and glistening and ready and Corin’s cock gives an impatient little jump at the sight. But he holds out, running both hands tenderly up under Din’s under-armour, onto his lower back, and then down again to knead his ass. When he pulls his hands away, he leans down and replaces them with his mouth. He kisses the curve of Din’s ass and then bites him, hard. 

Din gasps in surprise and the bite leaves a mark that will likely be there for days. Corin wants to soothe it away, but remembers Din’s request for roughness and, instead, draws his hand back and slaps his ass, sharp and sudden and loud. 

Din drops onto his forearms and moans brokenly. “ _Elek_. Yes, fuck.” 

Corin hits him again, harder this time, and then digs his fingers into the reddened flesh of his ass cheek as he uses his other hand to press two fingers into Din. He crooks them and quickly finds the small knot of flesh inside him that will make him lose his mind. He circles it gently and continues slapping him, a few hits at time followed by wet, open-mouthed kisses to the irritated skin. By the time he withdraws his fingers to switch hands and repeat the treatment on the other side of Din’s ass, his _riduur_ is a mindless mess: breaths coming out in an almost constant moan, forehead pressed to the dirty floor of the cargo bay, hands fisted in his own hair. He’s good, too, hands never straying to touch himself. 

Finally, when Din’s shaking uncontrollably and beginning to collapse down fully onto the floor, losing the ability to hold his own weight, Corin slicks his cock and pushes into him roughly, seating himself fully in one blunt, quick thrust. He uses his own strength to hold Din up, one hand on his hip and the other against the beskar of his chestplate. 

He fucks him long and hard for what feels like a strange, heady forever, but is probably only minutes. He hold himself back from orgasm more times than he count, wanting to fulfill his promise and fuck Din raw, use him. Eventually though, he can hold back no longer and comes with a long, low growl, fingernails scoring into the exposed flesh of Din’s hip. 

Though his brain is scrambled, Corin pulls out quickly, determined to finish this right. He flips Din over onto his back and straddles him, pressing a hand to his neck to hold him down and choke him. Din’s face is red and wet and gloriously beautiful. He squirms under Corin, lost in sensation but also, instinctively, trying desperately to behave and not buck his still untouched cock up into him. 

“Please,” he croaks out and Corin releases a bit of the pressure on his throat to let him speak. 

“Please, what?” 

“Please, let me come!” He throws a still-armoured arm over his face and coughs out a hoarse sob. “Please, I’ve been so good!” 

The afterglow of his own orgasm is settling within him, and Corin can’t find it within him to push Din any further—and isn’t sure it wouldn’t be just over the line of too far right now. He shimmies backwards and grabs Din’s weeping cock, working it hard and fast. Din’s at the edge almost instantly, arching off the ground in a kind of feral bliss. Just before he’s ready to come, Corin jams the heel of his hand against the freshly cauterized wound on Din’s thigh at the same time he leans down and takes his whole cock into his mouth, swallowing it down so that he’s gagging around it. Din’s release explodes out of him with a scream that seems ripped from his belly by some external force, his upper body coming forward and then slamming back down against the floor with the force of it. His cum burns down Corin’s throat in hot spurts and his whole body shudders before melting completely, slumping bonelessly against the deck of the Crest. 

Lifting off Din, Corin swings a leg over him so that he can kneel beside him and just drink in how he looks. His hair is damp with sweat, his closed eyes red and puffy, and his lips are slightly swollen still from being around Corin’s cock. His pants are pulled down over his thigh guards and Corin’s cum is leaking out of him and onto the floor of the Crest. He looks thoroughly used and fully, utterly relaxed, every shred of tension and anger gone from him. 

Corin cherishes the sight, memorizes it so that the next time he feels worthless or undeserving, he can take it out like a precious gem and remember what he’s capable of. Remember the goodness and comfort he’s able to give to the man he loves. He places a tender kiss to the jut of Din’s hip bone and then rises. 

He crosses the small space to the ‘fresher and dampens a towel to clean them both up. He wipes himself down perfunctorily and refastens his pants before dropping back down beside Din to clean him up much more gently, soothing over the raw flesh of his entrance and his spent cock. Din murmurs a little at the touches, something that sounds like _kar’ta_ , but otherwise barely stirs. Tenderly, Corin checks his two wounds, quietly fearful that he may have damaged the cauterization on his thigh or hurt him further. Once he’s satisfied that all is well, Corin carefully readjusts Din’s pants, nudging his hips up to pull them up and set them fully back to rights. Then he moves to sit cross-legged above Din on the floor of the cargo bay, lifting his head up briefly so that he can cradle it in his lap. He hums softly and strokes nimble fingers across Din’s brow. 

Din’s quiet for so long Corin thinks he’s asleep—and maybe, for a time he was—but then he blinks his eyes groggily and looks up at Corin, gaze delicate and open. 

“I don’t know how that mission slipped out of my control so quickly,” he whispers. Corin can hear the exhaustion in his voice, but all the anger is gone. “It should have been relatively simple and I somehow managed to mangle it completely.” 

“It happens, _cyare_ ,” Corin says softly. “You’re only human.” 

An hour ago, Din would have argued, would have railed against himself and insisted that his failure was shameful, but now he just nods and reaches up to touch Corin’s face. 

“Thank you.” 

Corin leans down to kiss him chastely. 

“Any time, _ner cyar’ika_. Now rest.” 

Din does, safe in the belly of the Razor Crest and the arms of his husband, and it seems that good luck has found them after all.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Thanks for reading!** :3 🧡💙


End file.
